The night of the graduation was meant to serve as a radiant link between childhood and adult life. However, for Alisa, it turned out to be nothing more than another door slammed abruptly shut before her eyes. The air inside the apartment was heavy and stale, infused with the scent of old cabbage and unfulfilled dreams.
“Going to the dance? Buying a dress?” The voice of her mother, Vera Ivanovna, came out flat as a board and cold as a knife’s edge. “That’s frivolous nonsense—wasting money on a dress you’ll wear just once and then discard.”
Alisa kept silent, staring through the window where the sunset spilled crimson wine across the sky. She had already pictured the dress in her mind – a soft blue, like a fragment of the heavens, crafted from the lightest fabric that would whisper with each movement.
“You’ll get your diploma – then straight home,” Vera Ivanovna declared with an uncompromising tone that brooked no argument, fastening her apron. “You need to take Artem to practice. He won’t wait.”
“But, Mom…” Alisa’s voice faltered, revealing her vulnerability. “How can I just leave? Everyone will be saying goodbye, taking pictures… Can I at least stay until the evening starts? I promise I’ll leave quietly afterward.”
Turning slowly, Vera Ivanovna fixed her daughter with eyes as gray and fathomless as a well in a forgotten village. There was not a trace of warmth, only familiar fatigue and irritation.
“I said everything already. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Disobedience here was tantamount to self-destruction—Alisa had known that from infancy. Silently, she nodded, swallowing the lump rising in her throat. A tear betrayed her, sliding down her cheek and falling onto her palm, leaving a salty stain.
The school auditorium erupted with laughter, music, and joyous cries. The atmosphere trembled with happiness and anticipation. Girls fluttered in sparkling dresses like butterflies; boys fidgeted awkwardly in ill-fitting suits, trying to appear mature. Meanwhile, Alisa sat at the very edge of her chair, like a specter at her own celebration. Her old calico dress appeared a ruinous blot against the backdrop of universal jubilation. She noticed the pitying or curious glances directed at her, each one stabbing like a pinprick.
As soon as the coveted red folders were handed out, Alisa bolted for the exit clutching her diploma like a shield, not waiting for the principal’s speech. Her heart shattered into fragments. Racing down the street without regard for direction, her sobs finally burst free – guttural, bitter, desperate. The unforgiving granite of the city pavement scraped against her worn boots. Once again, she was cruelly confirmed in a brutal and crystal-clear truth: her mother did not love her. Never had.
This bitter reality had always dwelled inside her since she first became self-aware. It was as vital and natural as breathing. Vera Ivanovna almost never spoke to her — only issued commands. Her touches were infrequent and always pragmatic—straightening collars, tugging dresses. Never a gentle glance, a tender goodnight kiss, or comforting embrace. Punishment for the slightest error, a misplaced word, or a broken cup came in the form of a chilling, all-consuming boycott. Her mother simply ceased to acknowledge her existence. She behaved as if Alisa did not exist at all. Such silence could extend for weeks, once dragging on torturously for two months. To this day, Alisa could not recall what had caused that punishment—as though she had erased the pain from memory to survive.
- She always endeavored to be exemplary, excelling in studies with mostly top marks.
- Quietly, she cleaned floors, washed laundry, and ironed without complaint.
- Her dream was for her mother to acknowledge her efforts with a smile, a caress on the head, and a proud “Well done, daughter.”
Yet, no matter what she did, her mother found faults to criticize, reasons to scold, or reasons to ignite a new round of silent hostility.
From scraps of family conversations, Alisa learned that before she was born, her parents struggled for years to have children. They consulted numerous doctors, underwent tests, and treatments, but nothing succeeded. Suddenly, just when hope was extinguished, she was born.
“It’s strange,” the girl often mused tearfully before sleep, “they wished so much for a child, but when I came, they didn’t rejoice. Why else would I feel so cold? And Dad… he’s kind, but distant, as if I’m a burden. Artem is completely different. They adore him.”
Her childhood, already far from joyous, ended entirely with the birth of her brother when she was only eight. Her mother seemed to forget Alisa’s age. All household chores—cleaning, shopping, washing and ironing diapers, looking after Artem—fell heavily on her fragile shoulders. And she was expected to maintain perfect grades; even a “B” was considered a disaster.
As Artem grew, Alisa escorted him to kindergarten, school, and clubs. Cooking became her new duty. Not the entire meal, but dinner every night was her burden. She experimented with recipes, dreaming of delighting her family, yet never received even a simple “thank you.”
By seventeen, Alisa had formed a steel-hard conviction: in this family, she was nothing more than a servant—volunteer, overburdened, and endlessly obligated. Neither her mother nor father needed her for anything else.
“Well, let them think so,” she told herself desperately, wiping tears away. “After graduation, I’ll leave. Far away. I will enroll in university, and then they will realize how to live without me.”
That very evening, after fetching her younger brother from practice, she gathered all her courage and revealed her plans over dinner.
“I decided to apply to Voronezh University, to the Faculty of Philology.”
Her mother, still fixated on her plate, retorted sharply, “Why?”
“Why?” Alisa answered in surprise. “I only have one ‘B’ on my diploma. I have good chances…”
“Don’t even think about it,” Vera Ivanovna’s voice tightened with a strange inner tension, as if she had awaited this moment for years. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Why not?” Alisa’s voice cracked with desperation.
“Son, go play in your room,” her mother suddenly spoke gently to Artem. “Haven’t you eaten enough?”
The boy nodded obediently and disappeared behind the door. The moment the lock clicked, Vera Ivanovna glared at Alisa with venomous hatred, chilling her to the bone.
“Who will look after Artem, take him to practice? He’s too young to wander the city alone.”
“I could take him,” her father unexpectedly murmured quietly, glancing down at the table.
“You?” Vera Ivanovna screamed, springing up with a face twisted in rage. “And why not her? Have I wasted so many years, energy, and health on a stranger’s child? Let her work for her keep!”
Alisa jolted as if struck by electricity. Her trembling fingers dropped the fork onto her plate with a clatter. A ringing filled her ears. It had to be a hallucination…
“Why are you like this, Vera?” her father muttered wearily. “You found the time…”
“I’ve been silent too long! Let her finally know who she really is! She’s rushing off to university! To a factory! Let her work in a plant! We are not obligated to carry her on our backs any longer!”
The room’s atmosphere thickened, becoming heavy and prickly. Alisa sat mute, unable to move. Her already fragile world collapsed instantly, shattering into a million sharp shards. “A stranger’s child”—the words echoed like glass in the silence.
“Get out,” her mother hissed, pointing sharply at the door.
Mechanically, Alisa rose. Her legs felt like jelly. She looked at her father, silently pleading for help or explanation, yet he only bowed his head lower, shrinking into himself as though trying to vanish.
“I said get out! Out of my kitchen!” her mother yelled hysterically, venom seeping from every word.
The scream propelled Alisa into flight. Without recollection, she dashed out, running through the streets of her hometown which suddenly felt alien and hostile. Streetlights stretched grotesque shadows, pounding echoed in her temples: “Stranger… stranger… stranger…”
Stopping to catch her breath, she suddenly knew where to go—the only person who had ever looked on her with warmth.
“Grandma,” she whispered as an elderly but still strong woman with wise, kind eyes opened the door. “Grandma, what she said… is it true?”
Anna Vasilievna wordlessly let her in, seated her in an armchair, poured tea, and listened patiently to the fragmented, sob-riddled story. Her face turned sorrowful and deeply tired.
“I never thought I’d live to see the day you would learn this, my girl,” she began softly. “But Vera, awful as it sounds, spoke the truth. You are truly only the son’s biological child — your father’s.”
“What?” Alisa whispered, vision blurring. “Who… who is my mother?”
“A student of his — young, beautiful, and frivolous. They had a brief romance. She became pregnant, believing that since Vera had no children, Sergey would leave and marry her. But your father… he had no intention of breaking up the family. He offered her money and help, but not marriage. In anger, she threatened to abandon the child at the hospital. Sergey couldn’t allow that. He told her: ‘Give birth. I’ll take the child and raise him as my own.’ And so he did. He confessed everything to Vera, who was naturally shocked and even considered divorce. They didn’t speak for a week, then she agreed to raise you as her own. I think she hoped to learn to love you. But she couldn’t. The heart doesn’t obey. I offered many times that she give you to me to raise. She always refused stubbornly. Pride, I suppose. Not wanting rumors to scatter. Then Artem was born… and you were tasked to be the helper. That’s the whole story, dear Lena.”
“Where is that woman now?” Alisa’s voice was as quiet as rustling leaves.
“I don’t know, my dear. She never appeared, said she wanted a fresh start, and vanished. Don’t despair. That is your fate. You should be grateful to Vera for not casting you out, for raising you and giving you an education, and to your father for not shirking and taking you in. I didn’t find out everything right away either. Your mother-in-law dislikes me, and we rarely meet. But your desire to study is right. Go ahead. It’s time I truly looked after you. I have savings – not much, but enough for a rented room in Voronezh and living expenses. If the dormitory accepts you, that’d be perfect. Just don’t lose heart. You don’t deserve this hardship—you deserve a bright life.”
“Grandma, is it okay if I move in with you? Now? I can’t go back there. I just can’t…”
“Of course, my dear. That room has always been yours. You’ll have peace to prepare for exams.”
“Grandma… should I try to find her? My mother? Maybe Dad knows something?”
Anna Vasilievna pondered, gazing sadly out the window.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, child. If she wished to see you, she would have shown up long ago. Who knows what she is feeling, how her life turned out? Perhaps your arrival might only hurt her. She’s essentially a stranger to you. Don’t reopen old wounds.”
“You’re probably right,” Alisa leaned on her grandmother’s warm shoulder, wiping away her tears. “So, you are the dearest one to me.”
“Not just me, dear. Your father and brother love you truly. Everything will settle. Do what you must, and let come what may.”
- Alisa enrolled in university.
- Throughout her studies, her grandmother remained a primary pillar of support.
- Her father also helped discreetly, sending money and calling secretly, voice trembling as he asked how she was doing.
Meanwhile, Vera Ivanovna never forgave what she called “the escape of an ungrateful hanger-on” and “the betrayal of her mother-in-law and husband.” Her fury simmered quietly, transforming into perpetual hatred.
After graduation, Alisa was assigned to a position and moved to the country’s far eastern edge. There, she met her future husband and had two children—a boy and a girl. She built a life filled with warmth and love that had been absent from her childhood.
More than twenty years passed before she returned to her hometown, only once to attend her grandmother’s funeral. She stayed overnight in the old apartment scented with childhood memories and safety. Later, it emerged that Anna Vasilievna had bequeathed the apartment to her beloved granddaughter.
This revelation enraged Vera Ivanovna.
“It’s enough we fed and clothed her! Ungrateful wretch!” she shouted at her husband. “Now she wants the apartment too? What is this nonsense? Your mother has gone mad!”
“I don’t understand why you get so worked up,” her husband replied calmly as usual. “Alisa is not at fault. Your mother decided it.”
“She’s guilty of being born!”
“Do you even hear yourself?” the father’s voice hardened for the first time. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. And you know what? I don’t regret having such a daughter. On the contrary, I’m proud of her.”
Alisa chose not to claim the inheritance. She and her husband decided to move on mentally, expressing gratitude to her grandmother and closing that chapter.
Some years later, after her father’s sudden death, Artem officially became the apartment’s owner. He immediately sold it and unexpectedly came to Alisa’s home on the opposite side of the country.
Appearing without warning at her door, he embraced his sister tightly and confidently declared:
“I’ll live nearby. Your city is promising. The climate’s decent. Help me pick an apartment?”
Alisa exchanged a puzzled glance with her husband.
“Hey, don’t get me wrong!” Artem laughed. “I have the money. I just need help choosing the neighborhood. I don’t know that stuff. It’s hard alone.”
“What about Mom?” Alisa asked cautiously. “She’s alone now.”
Artem’s face clouded over.
“She needs time alone. I’m tired of her constant hatred and bitterness.”
“Really? Still? After all these years?”
“Still. She’s angry at you, Dad, and Grandma. She only loves me. But sometimes this suffocating, possessive love makes me want to scream. I’m not an object.”
“You shouldn’t have left her alone.”
“Should I not have come to you? I thought you’d be glad.”
“I’m very happy to see you! Truly! I just feel sorry for Mom. She’s not young anymore. What if she gets sick, needs help?”
“If she needs help, social services will call, or she’ll call herself,” Artem cut off. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Two years passed – quiet, peaceful, filled with life while living close to her brother. Yet one day, overcome by deep compassion and a strange sense of duty, Alisa bought a ticket and traveled back to her birthplace.
Standing before the familiar door behind which her life of pain and tears had unfolded, her heart pounded in her throat. She rang the bell.
Slow, shuffling footsteps came. The door swung open to reveal an aged woman, bent and entirely gray. The authority and harshness she once wielded had vanished without a trace.
“Hello, Mom,” Alisa spoke quietly and cautiously.
The woman stared confusedly, eyes blurry, as if peering at a ghost.
“You?” she finally whispered, stepping aside silently to let her in. The apartment was clean but neglected, empty, and cold.
“What do you want? Why have you come?” The voice tried to sound harsh but only conveyed exhaustion and defeat.
“I’ve come for you, Mom.”
“For me?” The woman blinked in puzzlement. “You and Artem want me to move in with you? Live nearby?”
Vera Ivanovna froze. In her eyes flickered something—hope? Fear?
“Artemka,” she murmured. “Did he send you?”
“Of course. He misses you.”
“Why didn’t he come himself? Can’t he visit his old mother?”
“He’s overwhelmed with work, and his wife is expecting… You want to see your grandson, don’t you?”
“Grandson?” Her voice suddenly gained a trace of life. “Is it a boy?”
“The doctors say yes.”
“Then why did he leave?” She muttered aloud without looking at Alisa. “What was missing here? He could have lived with us…”
“My children are eager to meet their grandmother,” Alisa continued gently.
“Children?” Vera Ivanovna lifted her eyes, genuine surprise shining within. “You have children?”
“Two, Mom. Pavel and Larisa.”
The woman paused, digesting this revelation.
“Why did you give the girl my name?” she asked, suspiciously.
“Because it’s beautiful. And because—you’re my mother. For me.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” the old woman waved weakly. “We both know the truth.”
“For me, this is the truth. You raised me, taught me everything, pushed me to study hard and be strong. Without you, I don’t know what I would’ve become. So thank you, Mom. For everything—even the bitter lessons.”
The elderly woman listened, and it seemed as if her once hard, frozen heart cracked. Cold eyes brimmed with tears. She stepped forward uncertainly, then again, and suddenly embraced Alisa—tremblingly, awkwardly, in an old woman’s way.
“Forgive me, my girl… Forgive this old fool…” she sobbed, clutching her shoulder, “Life… life was all wasted on mistakes and anger…”
Alisa hugged her back, feeling the years of pain and resentment dissolve. They flowed away with their tears, evaporating into the cool air of this strange, yet familiar apartment.
Vera Ivanovna spent her final years on the other side of the country, in a warm climate, surrounded by children and grandchildren. She never became a tender, loving grandmother but learned to sit silently on a bench, watching her grandchildren play, occasionally breaking into a rare, sincere smile. For Alisa, this was enough. She had conquered the darkness of her past not by forgetting, but through forgiveness, and that was her greatest triumph.
Key Insight: The story illustrates the profound impact of family relationships, the power of forgiveness, and the resilience it takes to overcome the shadows of a painful past.
Ultimately, Alisa’s journey reveals that despite hardships and wounds inflicted by those closest to us, healing and peace are possible through understanding and compassion. The bonds of love extend beyond blood, enriched by forgiveness and acceptance.